Wear it like Armor
by Zombiegirl197
Summary: "And it will never be used against you." Long before his undead state and hands stained with the blood of countless souls that fell under his blade, it was all met with the same reaction.


**It was meant to be something else inspired by Tyrion Lannister's advice to Jon Snow in Game of Thrones but then it just sort of...went off on its own. A little look in my own interpretation of Jason Voorhees. Also, I am almost done with chapter 2 of Shattered Looking Glass. I just need to figure out one part of the chapter out and then it will be posted. Always, read and leave a review please! I would appreciate hearing your thoughts greatly on this.**

 **Wear it like Armor**

There was something that had to be said of accepting the deformity of one's self. Of gazing upon the twisted, unsightly flesh, take in the misshapen features that could barely pass as a face, and actually come to admire the gnarled, twisted details that strike revulsion and fear deep into anyone that managed to remove that cracked, battered mask from his form. Take the only piece of clothing he ever valued and gaze upon the hidden face of the killer that haunts these lands. Long before his undead state and hands stained with the blood of countless souls that fell under his blade, it was all met with the same reaction.

Always the same wide eyed look of terror and fascinated disgust over the deformity he suffered from. A monster is what they see when they look at him, and a monster is what they get.

There was no love felt for this face. No appreciation cursed form placed upon this soul from birth. In fact, all but one despised this face, and she was gone now. Nothing but a whispering ghost, slowly fading from existence, and left the wretched creature longing for her embrace once again. Wishing back to days filled of a comforting voice, warm hands holding to his own, and the safety of childhood long gone. Those days were no more now, and there was no one left to love this face. He was on his own.

He himself did not love this face.

The owner despised it even, never wishing to look into the mirror and know the horror that has haunted the few survivors that managed to bear witness to it and escape barely unscathed from the creature. A phantom memory slithering in and offending everything sacred and pure within the civilized lives of society and mundane.

Perhaps if he'd been born into a different world, a different life, a different century, he might've gotten a chance to live his life in peace and without the intrusion of others. He had learned to be lonely long ago.

Then again, he suspected, blood would still be spilt because no one would learn to stay away from his home. No matter what world or time, people will always find some way to end up in places they do not belong or shouldn't be in. He'd come to suspect it as part of some universal truth when recalling the years of bloodshed and screams of terror. For what other answer could there possibly be?

Still, there were times when he longed to feel the wind upon his face and take in deeper, easier breaths despite the shriveled up and dead lungs within his chest. Pretending that he was tasting sweet life again and was a living, breathing child once again. A child with hopes and dreams, and perhaps a bittersweet future for himself; with mother by his side instead of being alone, with no arms to hold him, and forced to acknowledge the fact his heart was made to be on its own.

Then he laughed in the lonesome woods by himself. A deep, barking laughter that rumbled up scratchily from unused vocal cords and echoed throughout the area around him. A bitter, savage grin spread across his twisted face underneath the mask as unshed tears glistened in his eyes and blurred the world in his vision. How long has it been since he cried? How long had he last broken down and sobbed over the unfairness of it all. Mother gone, and no one left to love or take care of the young boy corpse. Then again, she had been gone long before he ever reemerged from the lake miraculously but without a beating heart. He was alone and abandoned before he even realized it.

A choked sobbed made its way to his lips and a painful, throbbing in his chest came as despair seeped into his blood. Spreading like a poison and causing him to fall to his knees, wanting to scream and cry the way others before had done.

Instead, he continued to laugh at the world, laugh at himself and what fate had brought, and laugh for all the lonely days gone and about to come in this monster's life. There was no point in wishing. No point to want anything at all. If this was to be his eternal fate, his eternal haven and Hell, then he might as well accept it. Accept the face, accept the solitary existence, and the fact it isn't a crime to be a hideous monster. It was what he was born to be after all. If he didn't, and looked into the mirror with the mask on next time, he would a cruel person indeed to himself for how could anyone put up a mirror to a man without a face?

He had the world to be cruel and unjust towards him already. He might as well be kind to himself. Might as well learn to love himself if no one else would. Mother did and now she's gone.

There will be no living bride to share a kiss with. No romani dancer to offer him a drink of water or a beauty to fall in love with a beast. There will be no other in his life to accept him.

He has to do it himself.

So it was then, when Jason Voorhees next turned to face the mirror and bare his naked face to himself, that the man knew the world will never let him forget what he was; what he had always been.

An outcast.

A monster.

A killer.

A freak.

He accepted it gladly and turned these damning words, these poisonous and tainted labels that has followed him everywhere, and fashioned them into dented, bloody armor. They will never be used against him again. The mask was his armor now, no longer a cover to hide behind and cower in revulsion over his own deformity. No, none were allowed to gaze upon his face for none were worthy enough to see him in all of his half-formed glory and wretchedness. The rest of the world reviled and abandoned him, so he in turn shall revile and abandon the world to its own frivolous and callous sense of beauty and acceptable society. When the day comes where the world is thrown into chaos and burns, he shall come out, sit down amidst the anarchy and despair, and laugh. He will laugh and laugh and laugh while everything burns.

It was what they all deserved in the end, including him.

They all deserved to burn and turn to nothing but ash.


End file.
